Fairy Tale - The story of a mother (part-1)

The story of a mother - part 1

  a fairy tale by - Hans Christian Anderson

    A mother sat there with her little child. She was so downcast, so afraid that it should die! It was so pale, the small eyes had closed themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a deep respiration, as if it sighed. The mother looked still more sorrowfully on the little creature.
   Then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old man wrapped up as in a large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and he needed it, as it was the cold winter season! Everything was covered with ice and snow outside, and the wind blew so that it cut the face.
   As the old man trembled with cold, and the little child slept a moment, the mother went and poured some ale into a pot and set it on the stove, that it might be warm for him; the old man sat and rocked the cradle, and the mother sat down on a chair close by him, and looked at her little sick child that drew its breath so deep, and raised its little hand.
   "Do you not think that I shall save him?" said the mother. "Our Lord will not take him from me!"
   And the old man-it was Death himself-he nodded so strangely, it could just as well indicate yes as no. And the mother looked down in her lap, and the tears ran down over her cheeks. Her head became so heavy-she had not closed her eyes for three days and nights. But now she slept only for a minute, when she started up and trembled with cold.
   "What is that?" said the mother and looked on all sides. But the old man was already gone, and her little child was gone-he had taken her child with him. The old clock in the corner burred, and burred, the great leaden heavy ran down to the floor, suddenly! Then the clock also stood still.
   But the poor mother ran out of the house and cried loudly for her child.

   Out there, in the middle of the snow, there sat a woman in long, black clothes; and she said, "Death has been in your chamber, and I saw him rush away with thy little child; he goes faster than the wind, and he never brings back what he takes!"
   "Please, only tell me which way he went!" said the mother. "Tell me the way, and I shall find him!"
   "I know it!" said the woman in the black clothes. "But before I tell it, you must first sing for me all the songs you had sung for your child! I am fond of them. I have heard them before; I am Night; I saw your tears at the same time as you sang them!"
   "I will sing them all, all!" said the mother. "But do not stop me now--I may overtake him--I may find my child!"
   But Night stood still and silent. Then the mother sang those songs and wept, and there were many songs, but yet many more tears. Then Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark pine forest. In that place, I saw Death take his way with your little child!"
   The roads crossed each other in the depths of the forest, and she no longer knew whither she should go! Then there stood a thorn-bush; there was neither leaf nor flower on it, it was also in the cold winter season, and ice-flakes hung on the branches.
"Have you not seen Death go past with my little child?" said the mother.
   "Yes," said the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you which way he took, unless you wilt first warm me up at your heart. I am freezing to death; I shall become a piece of ice!"
   Then the mother hugged the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly warmed. The thorns went right into her flesh and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thorn-bush gained forth fresh green leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night. The heart of the afflicted mother was so warm and then the thorn-bush told her the way, where she should go to get her child back.




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